My daughter was only two years old when she first verbally expressed love and understanding for her Daddy.
Little Dana was watching her father mop up the soaked carpet in the church hallway. He had dropped by the church building to pick up some things and found another septic tank overflow.
"What a mess," he said, angrily, and started the all-too familiar chore of cleaning up. Dana asked a few questions and got short, curt replies. She heard a couple sighs of exasperation as her father, the pastor of the church, tried to keep from cursing up one side and down the other at the old, rundown building that took so much of his time in maintenance and repairs.
Despite his responses toward her, Dana's tiny heart went out to her frustrated...